The female detective
gains a fraternal twin when Lily Tomlin pairs up with Dustin Hoffman.
As co-dependent psychologists, these two prove once again that professional
gurus make merry with everybody else's crises. Tailing their clinical
investigations, we suddenly realize that comedy -- unlike tragedy -- offers
its practitioners a future.

Here, the lady once known as Ernestine displays that rare talent found
also in Nashville (1975), Nine to Five (1980)
and Tea with Mussolini (1999). The genius of Midnight
Cowboy (1969), Tootsie (1982) and Meet the Fockers
(2004) does equally well as straight man or crack-up expert, of course.
Their comedic perspective provides the centering from which these existential
partners look down on the strictly nebbish -- anyone who takes him (or
her) self too seriously.

Hoffman supplies her
perfect complement in explaining wickedness as -- let's face it -- sheer
stupidity. As a professor of nosiness, he sprints right after his high-stepping
professional colleague, challenging garbage cans and spraying spigots
as courageously as she does. The two move in such graceful tandem that
they function as the Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire of middle-aged neuroses.

Hoffman solos, however,
with his blanket routine. Satirizing every philosophical system that oversimplifies
life on the fly, he props a white tarpaulin over his hands. These, then,
become bouncing manifestations of life -- you, me, or even birds and frogs.
His blanket demonstrates the unity of all phenomena. Simultaneously, his
gestures evoke the incomparable genius of a Charlie Chaplin.

Just as Chaplin scored
points against Hitler by playing The Great Dictator (1940),
who bounced the globe like a ball, so Hoffman offers us the philosopher
as mime. Both performers show us a reality where intellectuals specialize
in the absurd. In these portraits, we recognize counselors who keep pocketing
gain from pain. Tomlin and Hoffman shepherd their own patients, by contrast,
like spoiled children.

In return, their extended
clinical family relies on these proxy parents to tell them what they already
know. Life may not be a ball of cherries, but hope remains for spaghetti
or ravioli. This generous Mom and Pop show tolerates whining, bragging,
and endless proclamations of innocence. No one can be completely innocent,
though, with Tomlin and Hoffman as their foster relatives.

They lead us straight
through the commonest foibles like spirit guides. For psychology raised
to the level of art, keep Tomlin and Hoffman in your sights. They grant
us the benefit of the doubt: Even in our sleep, we're funny. We just don't
remember the divine comedy until we see ourselves in their inspired grins.